Redneck Goes Green

My special lady friend told me I was, under no circumstances, allowed to write a post having anything whatsoever to do with going number two. What does she know? Girls don't even poop. We reached a compromise that I was allowed to blog about gas.

I, like many of you, am furious with gas prices. With today's technology we should be able to find an alternative source of fuel for our vehicles. It doesn't help that our President doesn't just dip his hand in the oil industry, he goes swimming there on weekends with his buddies (they have tiki torches that run on crude oil and poor people's dreams). But I have recently discovered the real reason for the high price of gas prices, and it has nothing to do with greed.

The government is trying to kill off rednecks.

Crazy? You would think that you hippie city slicker. Get a haircut.

Think about it - rednecks are the ones driving the pick-up trucks and getting 2.6 miles per gallon. With gas prices the way they are I can barely afford to buy stickers of Calvin pissing on stuff.



But why? Do the people higher up not have Friends In Low Places? Sure we don't provide fine art, scientific advancements or shirts with sleeves - but where would America be today without Lynyrd Skynyrd, barbecues and America's Funniest Home Videos? How would other countries stereotype us if we didn't have cowboy boots and the phrase, "yall?"

And yet the gov't hates people who drive pick-up trucks. Obviously people in office have never had to move because everyone has that redneck friend that not only owns a pick-up truck; but is willing to complete any task if promised a 6-pack of Budweiser tallboys. How do you think the pyramids were built? Slave labor? Nope. Rednecks. They say Cleopatra was the most beautiful woman in history - but really it is because they were drunk as hell all the time. She was MAYBE an eight but they drank her up to a ten. Hell even the Sphynx starts looking good after a few hours. I'd hit it.

I know what you are saying - "Wow, Narm, you are good looking." Thanks, Reader - but lets stay on topic. You are also thinking, "But Narm, our President IS a redneck!" Wrong. Our President is a retard - the differences are subtle, but they are there.

So all you hippies that are trying to save the wales and the chaining yourselves to trees - lets start a "Save the Redneck" campaign - because what is America without rednecks? Answer: France - talk about an inconvenient truth.

Touche, Highway

On my way to work this morning I look at the car to my right so see a guy trying to put chapstick on in the mirror like it was lipstick. Cringing, I thought, "Yikes, Buddy, you get the award for 'Least MANuever of the Day". Then I looked to my left and saw a guy peel a banana and put half of it down his throat like he was trying to tickle his adam's apple.

I apologize, Chapstick Man, but I am forced to strip you of your award and give it to someone much more deserving.

When I Think About You I Lunch Myself

Around the office I am known for one thing: being a disgusting fatty. You know how someone will say to an overweight person, "There is a skinny person in there just dying to come out!" Well I have an incredibly fat person stuck in my skinny frame and he is confused and angry.

I have what I like to refer to as Lunch Masochism. Every morning I send out an email
around 930 (don't judge me) saying I want something "cheap and healthy" (I like my lunch like I like my women). This of course instantly changes into something that will leave me in the bathroom the rest of the day (can I send an Outlook invite for the handicap stall in the Men's room? Attendees: Narm and Shame.)

Here are my Top Five Places I Use To Break Down My Stomach's Will To Live

1. Tang's Wok. Pay-by-the pound Chinese buffet? Affectionately referred to now as Tang's Wok of Shame.

2. Chipotle. This is the fuzzy handcuffs of my Lunch Masochism - whereas Tang's would be the forked whip. Sure it does some damage - but I'm not left in the fetal position sucking my thumb and mumbling something about the meat sweats.

3. Georgio's $5 Hot and Ready Pizza. I already used the "I like my ____ like I like my women" joke so I'm drawing a blank on this one.

4. Wendy's. Tricky bastards. Salad and chili from the dollar menu be damned - give me the duoble stack. I dare anyone to eat for the cycle: Single, Double, Triple and the Baconator. Let's see Steve Prefontaine do that shit! Anyone can run a marathon - lets see him traverse through the Meat Marathon. Or the Meat Gauntlet - that sounds kind of like a gay porn, though. I'm sticking with Meat Marathon.

5. White Castle. You dirty whore. One time and one time only did I make this mistake...that day being today. The fatty in my said ten burgers and the big sack of fries was a walk in the park. Wrong. I am fairly certain my organs mutinied today. I am drafting an apology letter to them as we speak.

"Dear Organs,

I am sorry for my inconsiderate consumption of what can only be described as Weapons of Ass Destruction.

Signed,
Jeff Nomina"

I don't know - it still has to go through proofing.

The Post to End My Social Life

This is probably the biggest mistake I have ever made. Ever. Even worse than that time I let Billy Joel borrow my car. I have had a complete case of writer's block and needed a topic and this was the only one that came to mind.

I played the clarinet in grade school.

I KNOW - I could own a pair of bedazzled jeans and be less fruity than this. I'd have a better chance of getting laid wearing zuba pants than playing the clarinet. It sure as hell didn't clari-net me any ladies. My Mom warned me when 5th grade Nom decided this would be a good idea. She said to me, "Jeff, this is going to haunt you for the rest of your life." Well she was right - but not in the way I was expecting.

As mentioned, or at least alluded to in previous posts, I have a lady friend now. Those that know me well know that I don't date. Before last summer I managed a full four-year term as President of Bachelorania (I ran as an independent - har har)

Anyways my parents came up to visit the Land of Cleves this past weekend and the lady friend met us at Lolita for some drinks.

Keep in mind my parents are addicted to grandchildren. I am pretty sure they freebase grandkids on the weekends. They may even have grandkid trading cards and they get together with all of the other grandparents on the playground and show them their Jack Nomina rookie card. Ooooh mint condition! I can't remember the last family function where I wasn't cornered and asked by a random family member when I would finally be bringing a girl home (answer: when my family stops being crazy) - so having a girl come out and meet my parents was, I thought, going to be a welcomed event for my Mom.

Until this conversation.

Mom - trying to sell me to the lady: You were very involved growing up! You did readings at Church and you were an altar boy.

Me - being an arrogant asshole as always: Yeah - not only am I ruggedly handsome but I have a heart of gold.

Mom - cockblocking me: And you played the flute at church!

Me - wondering if it is inappropriate to use the phrase cockblock around my Mom: WHAT?!? I NEVER PLAYED THE FLUTE!!!

Mom - fixing the situation in the way throwing a glass of water on a forest fire is fixing the situation: Oh thats right you played the clarinet.

Me - BUT NOT AT CHURCH! AND ONLY FOR TWO YEARS IN GRADE SCHOOL!!!

Mom - I told you it was going to haunt you!

Now, Reader, I understand - my playing the clarinet is extremely, extremely embarrassing and I can't believe I had relayed this fact to all of you - but the FLUTE? C'mon Momina Nomina - the flute??? Why would she even bring that up in front of a girl in the first place, and then to go and say the FLUTE? In her quest for grandchildren - telling prospective girlfriends that I played the musical equivalent to Christopher Lowell is NOT a solid maneuver.



Now I just can't let her find out about my two years in the Nutcracker...

KIDDING

I Like Persons But I Hate People

Is there a quicker way to lose faith in mankind than being in a large crowd? My Dad used to tell me when I was little that he wanted to bring a machine gun to the mall and mow down all of the people walking on the wrong side, or that stop in the middle of the walkway to talk. You would think this kind of upbringing would cause severe mental damage - but I can promise it was just all those paint chips I ate.

There are many places that make me wish I owned a flamethrower (or at least a people thrower). Today I am going to focus on two - beginning with the sports event.

First off - The Wave. I hate the wave. I go to sporting events to, get this, watch the game. I don't pay money to go to a stadium so I can stand up and go "Wheeeeeee!" and then sit back down. If I wanted to stand up, mutter something and then sit right back down I'd go to church. Only in America could we be at a sporting event and still require more entertainment. Sit down, People, I can't see the hot dog race.

Second - Loud, Uninformed Sports Fan Guy. A guy could hit for the cycle twice and if he strikes out later in the game you always get that guy in the crowd going, "He's bum - they need to cut his ass." This guy is also a master of trash talk with gems like, "Hey! Hey! Hey...you! You suck!" Whoa buddy - why such a personal attack? Maybe the rightfielder has been working hard on his suck and he and his therapist had a breakthrough this week and you just pushed his progress back three years. Don't you know that Suck affects 2 out of every 3 opposing team rightfielders every year? It's an epidemic!

Another annoying crowded place: Concerts.

First off - Dancing Too Hard Guy. Comes in two flavors - teenage boy and older, hippie woman. I have been to a shit-ton of concerts; metal, blue-grass, country, rock - and this person is at EVERY SHOW. I really like the music too, Weirdo, but I have never said to myself, "Oh this is my favorite song! I better rub my ass on someone!"

Second - Heckler Guy. I think Heckler Guy is actually worse than Stands On The Street Corner Yelling At Strangers Batshit Crazy Homeless Guy. Why? At least the latter doesn't pay $25 to yell at people (or maybe he would if you would just give him some change). Why go to the show to yell at the person you paid to see? And another thing - yelling "FREEBIRD!" still isn't funny. How do people still think they are going to get a laugh out of this. Two of life's great mysteries are how when EVERYONE makes fun of "Freebird! Guy and Sandals And Socks Guy but yet they still practice these douchebagisms. Don't they tell you these things in DoucheBag Weekly? (I'm kidding - they totally do, I have a subscription.)

I think NASA should do a study on if there is some hormone that makes people get collectively dumber when in large groups. Is there a ratio? Does the amount of people in a given area inversely effect the combined IQ? For all we know it is all Mensa Members going to NASCAR events - but when they hit a certain number their sleeves fall off and they all start yelling, "Get'er done!"

I think this would be extremely helpful for crowded bars.

"Why can't I get in? Fire code?"

"Sorry, Sir, if you enter the crowd will actually think Carlos Mencia is funny"

"I'll wait."